The cafeteria was bustling with the kind of midday energy only a university campus could muster. Students shuffled in and out, some clutching textbooks, others just seeking out the comfort of a coffee. Ellen, now a professor, sat at the edge of the crowd, nursing her own cup of much-needed caffeine and grading papers, when a familiar tune echoed over the speakers.
The song transported her back to a cramped dorm room, decades ago, where she and Tom had spent countless nights discussing everything from existential philosophy to the best guitar riff of the ’70s. Though life had woven them in disparate directions, the music had always been their shared language.
Tom.
Ellen’s mind lingered on his name, tracing the outline of a friendship that had been as profound as it was short-lived. Their drift had been gradual, unintentional—life and its demands pulling them apart until the silence between them felt irreversible.
But not forgotten.
As she pondered this, someone approached her table, tentative, a silhouette against the sunlit entrance. “Excuse me, are you Ellen?” a voice asked, one that was familiar yet matured by time.
She looked up, meeting the eyes of the stranger, and then suddenly realizing they weren’t so strange at all.
“Tom?” Her voice was a mixture of surprise and uncertainty.
He nodded, a small smile playing on his lips, lines of age and experience around his eyes. “I saw you from across the room,” he said, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket, a gesture she recalled from years past. “I wasn’t sure if it was you, but… here I am.”
Ellen gestured to the chair across from her, her heart wrestling with emotions she hadn’t anticipated. “It’s been too long,” she said as Tom settled into the seat.
Their conversation started slowly, like an old engine groaning back to life. The first few exchanges were polite, almost stilted—questions about work, family, and mundane details that barely scratched the surface of their shared history. But underneath the surface was an undercurrent of nostalgia, pulling them deeper into the waters of their past.
“Do you remember that time we got locked out of the dorm because we stayed out past curfew?” Ellen asked, a hint of a smile teasing her lips.
Tom chuckled, a sound that seemed to unravel the years between them. “And we had to climb in through the laundry room window?”
“I still have a scar,” Ellen replied, showing him the faint mark on her forearm.
The rhythm of their conversation began to ease, like slipping into an old, familiar melody. They spoke of things they’d done, moments they regretted, and dreams they hadn’t fully realized. Ellen learned about Tom’s journey overseas, his struggles, and his triumphs. In turn, she shared her own stories—of the classroom, her late husband, and a daughter who had just started college.
As the afternoon wore on, there were pauses filled with unspoken words—apologies, unshed tears, and the ghosts of opportunities lost. Yet, in that silence, there was also forgiveness.
“I often wondered,” Tom began, his voice barely above a whisper, “if there was a moment I could have reached out but didn’t.”
Ellen met his gaze, her eyes softening. “I think about that too. But sometimes… we grow apart not out of malice, but because life just moves us.”
Tom nodded, his expression one of quiet acceptance. “It’s good to see you again, Ellen.”
“And you,” she replied, a warmth spreading through her chest.
As they stood to leave, the sun setting in the background cast an amber glow, enfolding them in a cocoon of shared history. They exchanged numbers, a simple gesture of hope, and with a promise not borne of obligation but genuine desire.
When Ellen walked out of the cafeteria, her heart felt lighter. The echoes of their youthful laughter danced in her mind, now harmonized with the wisdom of years passed.
Tom watched her leave, knowing this was not an ending but another note in their ongoing melody—a song of life that might occasionally rest, but never truly fades away.